


Platforms

by JoMarch, RyoSen



Series: Partyverse [7]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMarch/pseuds/JoMarch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyoSen/pseuds/RyoSen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  Will she recover? Story 7 of 10 in the Partyverse. Spoilers through season two.</p><p>Originally Posted: 1 Nov 2001.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Platforms

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Evan Drexler, Jesse Addox, Toni Timian, Susan Douglas-Radford and Adira Lyman are ours; the rest, alas, belong to the evil genius.
> 
> Thanks: To Morgan, for the population of Delaware.

"Think she'll recover?"

Sam glanced over at Josh, who was twirling a pen in his fingers. Where Josh managed to get his hands on a pen while strapped into the passenger seat of a denuded rental car, Sam couldn't say. "Who?"

Josh rolled his eyes. "The Governor, Sam; who do you think?"

"Oh. Right. I hope so," Sam replied belatedly. "Voters want honesty."

Josh grinned at the tractor-trailer lumbering along in front of them. "Well, she gave them that in spades."

"Yeah," Sam chuckled.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the muted hum of the classic rock station Sam had insisted on; he knew Josh would be impossible if he was allowed to listen to the commentary on NPR.

Then Josh's shoulders began to shake, and a suspicious snickering came from his side of the car. Sam looked over to find Josh attempting to contain his amusement.

"What?" Sam demanded, turning his attention back ahead.

"Nothing."

Sam found himself smiling. "Yeah, that snicker sounded a lot like nothing."

Josh broke into laughter -- real, full-bellied mirth that Sam didn't realize he'd missed until he heard it again.

"What?" he asked again, his tone petulant but the corners of his mouth inching upwards.

"That was an interesting sentence there, Sam."

Sam shrugged carelessly. "Yeah. Good thing I'm not a writer." Sam glanced over, caught Josh's eye, and they both burst into laughter. God, that felt good, Sam thought. It'd been years since he'd laughed that hard or that openly. Even with Jesse, there was some strange, sad part of Sam sitting out the fun, waiting for something unnamable. Finally, that little place inside Sam felt... better.

When he could speak without dissolving into ridiculous giggles, Sam asked, "Seriously -- what were you laughing at?"

Josh shrugged. "Just, you know, the whole situation."

"Ah," Sam nodded sagely. "You mean the part where we all put our various lives on hold to come work for what the press will no doubt call the Presidential Pothead?"

"Exactly," Josh answered, but now he only smiled, his amusement tempered by something Sam couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Josh?"

"Huh?"

"You kinda zoned out there for a second."

"No," Josh shook his head. "I was just -- It's nothing."

"Again," Sam started, "I say--"

"Please," Josh interrupted, grinning. "Don't mangle the English language any more than is strictly necessary. I was just thinking about how all this could be for nothing."

Sam considered that for a long moment, his gaze skipping absently along the white lines in the road. "Not for nothing, Josh," he said finally. "You fixed what was wrong between you and Donna."

"Yeah," Josh acknowledged, his voice rough. "I'm trying to, anyway. But she's not, you know, the only one who..." He shrugged, unable to finish his thought.

"No," Sam agreed, staring straight ahead. "She's not."

Sam sat ramrod straight, eyes on the road and hands precisely at ten and two o'clock. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd decided now would be a good time to talk to Josh, other than he knew Josh needed to be told. But how? Sam had known Josh for twenty years, most of which he'd spent more than half in love with Josh. Somehow, Sam didn't think confessing his former unrequited feelings was really the way to go.

"Sam," Josh said, turning a little in the seat. "I--"

"I'm gay," Sam blurted. Then he froze, awaiting Josh's reaction and thanking all the deities his overtaxed mind could recall that the road happened to be relatively straight. He honestly wasn't sure he could spare the necessary concentration to navigate hairpin turns, or, you know, arroyos. Not that South Carolina was really an arroyo kind of place, but still. There could be a deep gully of some kind. Possibly a--

"You're gay?" Josh parroted, his eyes very, very wide.

Sam nodded, the movement jerky and unnatural.

"You're _gay_?" This time, Josh's voice got high and squeaky; and it was enough to break Sam's seeming paralysis.

"Yes," he answered, amazed at the confidence in his voice. "I'm gay."

"But," Josh said, shaking his head. "But you -- with women -- the prostitute--"

"Call girl."

"Sam."

"Sorry."

"I don't understand."

Sam could feel Josh's gaze, knew he was staring, weighing, trying to figure out what had changed all of a sudden. Only it wasn't all of a sudden. It was years of willfully misinterpreting the feelings he had for men in general and Josh in particular, years of unconsciously going after women he could never have, years of lying to himself so that he could avoid this moment. This moment when he went from being Sam to being Sam the Homosexual.

"What is there to understand?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

"You've slept with women!" Josh practically yelled. "Like, a lot of women!"

"So?"

"So," Josh fumbled. "So how can you be gay?"

"Josh, do you have any idea how many gay men have slept with women?"

"No, but logically--"

"Logic has nothing to do with it, Josh," Sam sighed.

"But if you like women and men--"

"I don't."

"Sam."

"I don't, Josh."

"Maybe you're bisexual."

Sam glanced over and met Josh's panicked gaze. "Would that make it any easier for you to accept?"

Josh swallowed hard. "No," he admitted.

Sam nodded briskly. "I've never felt about women the way I feel about men. I'm in love with a man, Josh, and I just thought you should know. In case it becomes a thing."

"Yeah," Josh managed. "Okay."

Sam's laugh was bitter. "You don't sound very okay."

The corner of Josh's mouth quirked. "It's a good thing you're not a writer, Sam, coming up with sentences like that."

Sam smiled just a bit. "Yeah, good thing."

Another silence, this one not nearly as comfortable. And then Josh started to laugh again, almost helplessly.

"Okay," Sam said, "are you sure you haven't been smoking pot?"

"Sadly, I have not. No, I was just thinking about something Donna said."

"About what?"

Josh waved a hand around in the air. "This."

"This?" Sam yelped. "Donna said--"

"No," Josh assured him. "No, she just -- I was -- I was kind of being an idiot and I thought maybe, since you two seem so close, that..." He gave a sheepish shrug.

It took Sam a moment to get it. "Wait -- you thought that Donna and I were--?"

"Please, don't say it," Josh ran a hand over his face, chuckling oddly.

Sam grinned over at him. "Josh, you're an idiot."

"You know, you are not the first person to mention the possibility."

"Imagine my surprise," Sam deadpanned.

Josh shrugged. "Seriously, Sam, I was just shocked before. It's okay, though, that you're, you know..."

"Gay?"

"Yeah. That."

"Well, thank you, Josh," Sam answered wryly. "Now that I have your permission--"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Sam caught Josh's eye. "I know."

"Good." Josh looked away, staring out the side window. "So," he said after a few minutes, "um, have you met any hot, you know, guys lately?"

Sam very nearly drove off the road before he got his laughter under control.

"What?" Josh demanded. "I was being supportive!"

"Okay," Sam grinned. "Just promise me you won't ever ask me that again."

* * *

"Governor," Toni said, as she entered Susan Douglas-Radford's hotel suite, "we may have a problem."

"Well, good," the Governor replied, looking up from the book she was reading. "Because I need a real challenge today, Toni."

"Seriously, Governor--"

"No, I don't have nearly enough to keep me busy. I only have a state to run and a campaign to win. That's not going to do it." She waved the book toward Toni. "Christiane Northrup says it right here: I'm perimenopausal, and my brain is catching fire. It's supposed to be a rebirth, a renaissance. I'm supposed to be acquiring all this wisdom. So far, all I've acquired is the occasional hot flash and a sudden intolerance for caffeine; I think I may have been cheated."

"I think that's not something you want to discuss in front of reporters," Toni replied with a smile.

"Why?" Douglas-Radford said. "You don't think the American public is ready for a menopausal Presidential candidate?"

"Not quite, no."

"Because given the number of Baby Boomers entering menopause every day, I'm thinking an announcement of that sort could do wonders for my polling numbers. At least it might get that damn picture of me wearing bell bottoms off the front page." Douglas-Radford put the book down and sighed. "All right, Toni. What's the crisis du jour?"

Toni hesitated for a moment, trying to decide on the best way to approach this subject with her boss. "We may need to rethink our campaign strategy."

"If that's the case, why isn't Josh here with you?" Douglas-Radford smiled. "Besides the fact that Josh Lyman would no doubt freak out if he heard me discuss my hot flashes."

"Because Josh and the others are what we need to rethink. They may be doing us more harm than good."

"Toni, do you honestly think we would have gotten this far without them? Hell, do you think we would have gotten the governorship without Josh to begin with?"

"My point, Governor, is that at some point these people become a liability. I like them, and I'm not doubting that they know their stuff. Toby's Voter Initiative Program has been a real success, and I'll even admit that they were right about going public on the drug issue. But they do come with certain baggage."

Douglas-Radford nodded. "The Healthgate issue."

"Exactly."

"Toni, we had this discussion before we agreed to hire Josh the first time. We were aware that the scandal is going to follow him no matter what he does for the rest of his life. And," she added, "the truth is that I would never have been able to hire a political operative with Josh Lyman's background if we hadn't been able to get him at the post-Healthgate discount rate."

Toni pointed to the stack of newspapers on the table. "Have you read those this morning?"

"Some."

"Have you seen how many have started picking up the stories the _Sun-Times_ printed about the campaign staff? The story's no longer your position on the issues or even your standing in the polls. It's whether Josh and Toby knew about Bartlet's MS before the '98 election. It's whether CJ's husband was a member of the Black Panthers. It's whether Sam still sleeps with hookers and whether Donna slept her way into the White House."

"And yet, even when they're being personally attacked, they all seem to be hard at work trying to win this election. That's pretty admirable, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do. But I also don't think it will mean a damn thing if we can't get our message out to the people because the media is more enamored of the Bartlet Gang's private lives than of our campaign. Governor, we have our own staff, people who have been with us for ten years and whose first loyalty is to you, not to Jed Bartlet. Losing this campaign because you took the wrong advice is a disservice to them."

Douglas-Radford nodded. "You may have a point, Toni, but I'm not ready to give up on Josh and his team yet."

"May I remind you, Governor, that we haven't placed better than third in any primary since New Hampshire?"

"And may I remind you, Toni, that we probably wouldn't have done so well in New Hampshire without President Bartlet's support? And we wouldn't have gotten that endorsement without Josh, Toby, and the others."

"We're running out of money, Governor. If we don't do well in the next few primaries, we'll never make it to Super Tuesday."

"Believe me, Toni, I'm very much aware of that. I didn't enter this race on a whim. I want the Oval Office."

"And you think Josh will put you there?"

"Let's see what happens with South Carolina and Delaware. If we don't finish second at least once, we may have this talk again."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Of course," she added, picking up her book after Toni left the room, "if we don't finish second in Delaware, my most pressing concern may be whether or not to take hormone replacement therapy."

* * *

The hotel bar was nearly deserted on a Wednesday afternoon. Besides two small clusters of business travelers swilling mixed drinks and discussing their latest deals, one lone woman sat at the bar, sipping white wine and staring intently at the television. Josh stood in the doorway for a moment and studied her. The thing of it was, he thought, that she didn't look different on the surface; she was still all long blonde hair and big blue eyes, with those legs that went on forever. It was only when you got closer that you noticed the changes. She had a confidence that hadn't been there three years ago. It came through, not only in the way she talked to him now, but in the assurance she projected even in moments like these, when she was simply sitting there watching television.

He'd been conflicted about the changes in her at first. On the one hand, he'd been proud of her. When he thought about the contrast between this polished, self-assured woman and the coltish girl who'd talked her way into a job during the Bartlet For America campaign, he was amazed by how far she'd come. On the other hand, Donna's hard-won confidence left him uncertain about what role he was supposed to play in her life now. Clearly, she didn't need him in the same way she had back during their White House days. That had thrown him for a loop at first, not that the feeling itself was anything new. Donnatella Moss, he realized, had been throwing him off balance ever since that first day in Manchester when he'd looked at her and decided that maybe he did need an assistant after all.

Over the last few weeks, however, he'd stopped looking so much for traces of his old assistant and concentrated on getting to know the new Donna. He'd decided that he loved this new version even more than he'd loved her before. She was, after all, fundamentally the same person. She was still smarter than she tended to give herself credit for. She was still the softest-hearted person he'd ever met. She still knew exactly how to bring him out of a funk, and she still could banter like nobody's business.

She didn't smile enough, however.

In the old days, Donna had had this amazing smile that lit up her entire face. And she'd smiled like that for him five or six times on an average day. She'd lost a little of that effervescence somewhere around the time they'd learned the President was ill, but he'd been so wrapped up in the politics and in his own pain that he hadn't even noticed.

He was ashamed of himself now for not having paid attention, and he had decided to redeem himself by bringing back Donna's smile on a regular basis.

He saw this as a lifetime job, and it amazed him that he wasn't scared by that thought at all.

Before he could properly obsess over what, exactly, that meant, Donna glanced at him and brightened, flashing him that radiant smile. She waved him over, and Josh was halfway to her side before he realized he'd moved.

"Josh," she said.

Nothing else. All she said was his name, but he knew exactly what she meant.

"So I talked to Sam," he said conversationally. Then he waved the bartender over and ordered.

Donna grinned at him. "Wuss."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Rolling Rock?" Donna raised an eyebrow. "That's like drinking water."

He nodded slowly. "I don't want to be drunk, Donna."

Her smile softened, her eyes darkening as she watched him. Josh had to grip the bar with both hands to keep from touching her. He knew there were probably members of the press in the vicinity, and he certainly didn't want the Governor's numbers in the South Carolina primary overshadowed by a story about her campaign manager and her press secretary getting it on in a bar.

Plus, if he started touching her, he wouldn't be able to stop.

Donna held his gaze, the corners of her mouth tilted upwards just a little. "I don't want to be drunk either, Josh." She leaned forward a bit and drained the rest of her drink, her eyes locked with his. The bartender arrived and asked if she'd like another. "No, thanks," she said, pushing the empty glass away.

When the bartender retreated, Josh swallowed hard and said, "Donna--"

"You talked to Sam?" she interrupted.

He groaned. "Donna."

"Josh," she answered, mimicking his petulant tone.

"Fine," he sighed. Josh blinked a couple of times, took a swig of beer, and nodded. "Yeah. On the drive. He's, you know..."

"Gay?" she supplied with a small smile.

"Yes. Gay."

Donna shifted a little in her seat, one slim hand landing on his thigh. "Did you say anything unforgivably stupid?"

It took a moment for the insult to register. Because, really, her hand was on his thigh. "Hey," he protested belatedly. "I never--"

Donna started laughing, leaning back a little and exposing her long neck to his hungry gaze. "Josh," she said, "you always--"

"I do not," he argued, unable to tear his eyes from her. "I really want you right now."

She inhaled sharply, her laughter ceasing abruptly. "Josh--"

"That wasn't unforgivably stupid," he said, the beginnings of a smirk in place.

"No, it wasn't," she conceded.

"We're in South Carolina," he pointed out.

"Yes, we are," she acknowledged, her gaze dropping to his mouth. She was breathing just a little bit too fast, her lips parted in the most alluring way.

Josh felt himself swaying toward her. "So, you said when we were in South Carolina--"

"I remember what I said, Josh." Donna used his thigh for leverage and slid past him, taking a couple of steps before turning back. "Are you coming?"

Unable to form words, Josh merely nodded and lurched out of his seat, abandoning his Rolling Rock in favor of her.

* * *

Donna was sure she would always remember the way the smooth plastic hotel room key felt as she slid it home. She was nervous. Ridiculously so. Because Josh was right beside her, one hand resting lightly against her back, and they were about to go to bed together.

Again.

Which was why her nervousness was truly absurd, she kept telling herself. They'd done this before, after all, and proven themselves darn good at it. Still, her hand shook a little, and Josh reached over to help her with the key. She swallowed back about a dozen sarcastic quips about the role reversal and how it meant he'd have to carry her bags this time because she couldn't seem to find the words. Not when he was looking at her like that.

The lock released. Donna bit her lip and swung the heavy door open, gesturing for Josh to go first. Instead of moving, he leaned in and kissed her so, so softly.

"Don't be nervous," he whispered. He always could read her every expression. Dammit.

Donna raised an eyebrow and lied gamely. "I'm not."

"Good." Josh grinned at her, the impish, smug smirk she'd missed every day for three years, and her stomach turned over. She couldn't tell if it was anticipation or dread. Or possibly both.

Then Josh's hand shot out and grabbed hers. "Then get your ass in here."

And it was okay, suddenly. Because this wasn't the silent, mournful lovemaking of their ill-fated night in Seattle, and it wasn't an awkward, abortive make-out session on an unfamiliar bed. It was them. Together.

And because it was them together, it was, of course, a hotel room. This one, though, Donna entered confidently and willingly, joining Josh as he slammed the door shut with a palpable sense of eagerness. He reached for her again.

Donna eluded his grasp and held up one finger. "Wait."

Josh actually pouted, his lower lip jutting out in an incredibly sexy way. "Why?"

"Don't whine, Josh," she admonished, throwing the deadbolt and fastening the chain. "I'm just making sure we won't be interrupted at an inopportune moment."

"You," Josh told her, "are incredibly smart."

Donna beamed at him. "Yes. Yes, I am." She moved toward him -- registering with pride the way his eyes widened appreciatively -- before slipping past.

"Okay, Donnatella?"

"Yes, Joshua?"

"I'm standing here and you're, you know, not."

"Very observant, Joshua," she answered, unzipping her suitcase.

"Yes, but my point is that I'm standing here for a reason, and that reason requires two participants."

She glanced over her shoulder at him, amused. "It does?"

"Well, not always," he admitted. "But it's much more enjoyable with two participants."

"I would have to agree," Donna said, digging through files, videocassettes and an alarming assortment of Douglas-Radford campaign passes.

"And yet," Josh answered, "you're still over there."

She could tell from the tone of his voice that he was smirking. "You really are quite observant." She figured he could tell from hers that she was rolling her eyes.

"Yes, but I'm starting to doubt that 'incredibly smart' thing."

Donna stood, hiding something behind her back, and shot him an indignant look. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying," he shrugged, grinning. "You're still over there."

"I believe you mentioned that," she answered, her smile matching his. This was much more fun than Seattle, she thought, and they'd barely even touched yet. She shuddered a little from the implication. "If you keep it up, I may stay over here."

Yeah, that was almost convincing the way her voice trembled just then. Donna gave herself a mental thwap on the head.

"Donna?" He'd noticed the quaver in her voice, the bastard. He was giving her that smug, smug look.

"Yes, Joshua?"

"You are incredibly smart."

"That's what I thought." She stepped closer. "Also? Incredibly generous." From behind her back, Donna pulled a large, multi-pocketed bag and held it out for him.

Josh stared at it for a long moment. "What's that?" he asked, his voice scratchy with emotion.

"A present for you. Because I am--"

"Incredibly generous." Josh closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him.

"Josh!" Donna yelped. "You're squashing the lapsac!"

Josh froze. "The what?"

Donna started to giggle, dropping her face into his chest.

"Did you say lapsac?"

Donna nodded against him and laughed harder.

Josh simply held her close, chuckling a little. "You did. You actually bought me something called a lapsac. Have you no respect for my manhood?"

Breathless, Donna leaned heavily on him, and he started walking them toward the bed.

"I mean," Josh continued, enamored as always with the sound of his own voice, "can a manly man such as myself -- Hey!" he protested as she shrieked with laughter. "I am too a manly man. And as such, I can't possibly carry something called a lapsac!"

Donna's legs hit the edge of the bed, and she mustered the strength to pull him down on top of her. "Josh," she said when she caught her breath. "Who's going to know the name of your bag?"

Settling more comfortably on top of her, Josh tugged the bag out from in between them. "See, that would be a valid point except for this part where it's embroidered on the pocket."

Donna examined the pocket, frowning slightly. "We could sew something over it."

"Can you sew?" Josh asked.

"Well, no," Donna admitted. "Can you?"

"Do I look--" He stopped himself, grinning down at her. "I shouldn't finish that sentence right now, should I?"

"You probably shouldn't finish it ever," Donna answered. "Well, at least not if you ever want to have sex with me."

Josh pretended to mull that over, then grinned down at her. "Donnatella?"

"Yes, Joshua?"

"I love my new lapsac."

Donna beamed at him. "Good. You know how you can thank me?"

* * *

"Josh?" Donna asked during the lull between kisses. "Do you think you could maybe get off me for a minute?"

Josh stopped nibbling at her neck and looked tenderly in her eyes, pretending to contemplate that question.

"No," he finally answered. "No, I really don't think I could."

She tightened her hold on his shoulders while protesting his refusal to move. "I need to get undressed, you know," she told him.

"An excellent plan," he agreed.

"I can't get undressed while you're on top of me."

"I could perhaps help you with the undressing."

"That would be nice of you."

"I am the soul of courtesy," he said. If she hadn't already been lying down, that comment would have caused her to double over with laughter.

"I'd be more than happy to reciprocate," she finally managed to say, "since you're being so generous and all."

"This is a good plan. Everybody wins with this plan."

It was amazing how much they were able to manage without leaving the bed. She was able to divest him of his jacket and shirt with relative ease, although she suspected a few buttons might have been lost along the way. He rolled the two of them over until Donna was on top, so that he could more easily unzip her dress. Unzipping his pants was simple enough, although pulling them down past his hips was a problem in his present position.

Finally, they stopped and gauged the progress they'd made: Josh was naked from the waist up, his pants were unfastened, the waistband now located somewhere around his hips. Donna's dress had been pushed down to her waist, her unfastened bra now covering only one breast. Josh's gaze, predictably, fell to the uncovered breast.

"You know," he said, "I could have sworn you had two of those."

Her intention was simply to hold up her arms so that he could slide the bra the rest of the way off her body. But, in the general giddiness of the moment, she'd completely forgotten that she was on top and needed to balance herself. The result, of course, was that she collapsed against Josh's chest, temporarily knocking the wind out of him.

"You know," he said when he recovered his breath, "you're really heavier than you look."

She tried to scowl, but it wasn't easy when she was laughing so hard.

"Okay," Josh said, lifting her off his chest, "I think we're going to have to sit up for the rest of this."

"Or even stand," she added.

"That too."

Josh stood first, and his pants immediately fell to his ankles.

"How convenient," Donna remarked, giving his legs an appreciative glance.

Josh's attempt to look stern and dignified was somewhat marred by the fact that he was now clad only in boxers, shoes and socks with his pants pooled around his ankles. The hands on the hips, however, Donna decided, were a nice touch.

"I believe it is your turn," he said.

She stood up, still laughing, holding her dress around her waist with one hand.

"That is so unfair," Josh commented.

"Think so, huh?" she asked as she closed the distance between them.

"I may be revising my opinion," he said as he put one arm around her waist.

She let the hand that had been holding the dress up fall to her side while her other hand tugged on the waistband of his boxers. "On the count of three," she suggested.

"One," Josh recited solemnly.

"Two," Donna said.

Which was when Josh pulled her dress off.

"You cheated!" she exclaimed. She was now wearing only her pantyhose and shoes, Josh somehow having managed to take her bra off with the same motion that had rid her of her dress.

He gave her a decidedly wolfish grin. "Yes, I did," he admitted.

It was amazing, she thought, how utterly unselfconscious the two of them were together, standing half naked in front of each other. Unselfconscious and also impatient.

"Fine then," she nodded. "Three."

Boxers, she realized happily, were much easier to remove than pantyhose.

* * *

Life, Josh reflected, just didn't get any better than this.

He had a naked Donnatella Moss in his bed, and she was doing some rather amazing things to his body.

Okay, so actually it was Donna's room.

Well, technically, the room belonged to the Marriott corporation. However, this did not negate the fact that Donna was naked, she was in bed with him, and she was happy.

This, he decided, was further proof that there was a God and that He was a Democrat.

She was not the serious, mournful Donna of three years ago, the one he'd half suspected was only having sex with him because she'd used up all the other options in the How to Keep Your Boss From Having a Nervous Breakdown manual. This Donna was laughing and happy, and it was pretty clear there was nowhere she'd rather be at the moment.

He smiled contentedly, propped himself up on the pillows, folded his arms behind his head, and laid back to enjoy Donna's ministrations.

Within thirty seconds, Donna and her miraculous hands and mouth were disentangled from his body.

"Damn," he muttered.

Donna looked at him accusingly. "You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that this is a spectator sport," she observed.

"I thought we were taking turns," he replied defensively. "Being, you know, equitable and all that."

He'd always admired how high she could lift that eyebrow. "Why, oh why, do I doubt you?"

"I don't have a clue. It's really quite shortsighted of you."

"And yet here I sit in my shortsightedness, my needs woefully unfulfilled."

"Woefully?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Woefully. Full of woe."

"Can't have that." He pulled her into his arms and began some rather passionate kissing. After a minute, he decided to stroke the back of her thighs, just for good measure. Based on her reaction, he guessed he'd made the right decision.

He kissed her again and revised his first opinion. He was making love to a naked, laughing Donnatella Moss in -- well, in somebody's bed.

Life didn't get any better than that.

* * *

Waking up in bed with Josh was better the second time, Donna decided.

For one thing, she woke up naturally; she wasn't jolted out of a deep slumber by a shrieking telephone. This time there was no summons from Hoynes sending Josh away from her; this time there was only Josh himself, grinning down at her like -- well, like someone who had spent the previous night having a great deal of extremely satisfying sex.

"Good morning," he said. He was, she noticed, propped up on his side, staring entranced at her naked body.

"I look exactly the way I did last night, Josh. There's no need to gawk like you've never seen me naked before."

"I'm doing a comparison," he explained. "Before and after, as it were."

"You're an idiot."

"I am a connoisseur of the female form."

"The female form?" she repeated. "Would just any female form suffice?"

"Definitely not."

"Smart answer, Harvard boy."

"I've been engaged in this study for an hour or so, and I have reached certain conclusions."

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Your skin glows."

"Glows?"

"Glows. After. You're all pale before--"

"I prefer the word alabaster."

"I've heard rumors. It's pretty, the pa -- the alabaster. But it's an untouchable kind of pretty."

"Didn't stop you last night," she muttered.

"This is better. This is--" He paused, apparently at a loss for words. Obviously, this was a moment she should mark on her calendar, Donna thought. "I like this better," Josh concluded with a shrug.

"So do I," she whispered. She ran one hand through his curly hair and pulled him in for a kiss. "I like this much better."

His body, she had noticed last night, was beginning to show the effects of three years without proper attention to his physical therapy regime. She needed to have a long talk with Pedro about the importance of scheduling--

Scheduling. Oh, shit.

"We're doing it again," she noted.

"I fervently hope so," he replied.

"No, Josh, I mean -- yesterday we were supposed to discuss our relationship. We weren't just supposed to scamper into bed willy-nilly."

"'Scamper into bed willy-nilly'?" he repeated. "That's an interesting turn of phrase there, Donnatella."

"Josh, seriously."

"Seriously, what is there to discuss? We did talk quite a bit last night, you may recall."

"We didn't talk so much as we, you know, we were silly and goofing around and, under the circumstances, nothing that was said was ethically binding."

"It wasn't?" She tried not to be too thrilled by the note of disappointment in his voice.

"Not necessarily. I wouldn't hold you to it if you wanted to forget you said some of the things you said."

"I meant everything I said," he answered solemnly.

Donna suddenly felt incredibly giddy. "So," she said, smiling way too much, "you honestly consider me insatiable?"

"Possibly. And I definitely feel -- I feel that that other thing I said."

"Not getting that particular admission out of you a second time; that's what you're telling me?"

"Maybe," he answered, grinning way too mischievously for her peace of mind, "if you give me the right incentive."

She looked at the clock on the nightstand. "There's precious little time for incentives," she answered. "We have a staff meeting in less than an hour."

He groaned. "You are, just so you understand, killing me here."

"We really don't have time."

He looked ruefully down his own body. "Clearly, I'm good to go right now."

"I'm not. And do we really have time to -- oh, God, Josh! Just -- just a little higher up, okay?"

"Like this?"

"Yeah. That's perfect." She grabbed onto his shoulders. "Better than perfect."

"What happened to not having time?"

"Being late once won't undermine the campaign."

"You're sure? 'Cause I can stop--"

"Joshua Lyman, you stop now and I will have to hurt you."

His smile really was quite something to look at, she thought, as he slid on top of her. "Yeah," he said, "I love you too."

* * *

For some strange reason, CJ woke feeling energized. She didn't want to tempt fate by overanalyzing her sudden good mood, so she rolled closer to Evan and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. It never ceased to amaze her how he could sleep blissfully through thunder, earthquakes and shattering crockery (care of the cats, or on especially bad days, CJ herself). Yet the lightest touch to a few sensitive spots and he was suddenly wide awake and grinning.

"Well, good morning," Evan said, wrapping his arms around her to tug her closer.

An hour later, CJ's mood had reached new heights, so to speak, and she arrived at the staff meeting utterly convinced that the drug story would fade away, the insinuations about the staff would cease, and Susan Douglas-Radford would walk away from the Democratic National Convention with the presidential nomination.

"Hey, CJ," Sam called as soon as he saw her. "Favorable Op-Eds in the _Post_ , Ann Arbor, the _San Francisco Examiner_ , and the _Miami Times-Herald_."

"Florida," CJ nodded, impressed. "Excellent." She glanced around the conspicuously empty room. "Where is everyone?"

"Late."

"Thank you, Sam, for that searing insight--"

"Well, I'm not the hall monitor, CJ," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah," CJ absently replied, pulling a newspaper off of the stack. "Let's see what the good people of Portland think of us today."

"Good morrow, my fine friends," said a familiar voice in a very unfamiliar tone. Well, CJ mused, not unfamiliar; more like almost forgotten. She looked up to find Joshua Lyman swaggering into the room one hand jauntily on his hip, the other making abstract images in the air as he blathered on about sunshine and birds and possibly ancient pagan holidays. CJ wasn't really listening, because he had that smirk. The insufferable one that Donna called his serpentface for reasons CJ was unwilling to contemplate.

Suddenly, CJ's good mood started to slip away.

Sam, who could usually be counted on to miss the undercurrents, merely grinned at Josh. "Austin likes us," he reported, thrusting a paper in Josh's general direction.

"Well, we're likeable people," Josh answered.

Sam looked a little more closely at Josh. "Someone woke up on the right side of the bed this morning."

"Actually," Josh smirked, "it was the left side."

"Oh, God," CJ groaned. "Please tell me you didn't--"

Toby and Toni entered arguing. Which was pretty much the norm for those two, since they both were quite enamored of the notion that they almost always knew best.

"Universal daycare is not a woman's issue, Toby."

"I'm saying it's perceived as such, and for a married woman with no children to purport to speak for single mothers--"

"No one else seems particularly inclined to speak for single mothers," Toni shot back. "Why shouldn't she? Besides which, when the cost of daycare is more than the income of a single-parent household, the easiest way to reduce the welfare rolls is to provide affordable day care."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Toby nodded. "We just need to make sure it's framed like that. And, Donna, we should release a short--" Toby glanced around. "Where's Donna?"

Josh tried to look innocent; and if CJ hadn't been so distracted by the myriad ways this situation could end badly, she would have found his contortions comical.

"Maybe she overslept," Josh suggested. "She's in -- She's probably in the shower right now."

CJ put aside her own trepidation for a moment to enjoy the look on Toby's face as Josh's words registered. Then she sobered, because Toby turned a really impressive scowl her way.

"CJ, how could you let this happen?"

"What?"

Josh interjected, "All evidence to the contrary, CJ's not actually my mother."

"I don't want to hear from you," Toby told him.

"You know," Josh commented, "I'm thinking my mother will be thrilled."

Sam blinked. "Wait -- You and Donna--"

"What are we--?" Toni started.

"Yes," Toby bellowed. "We've stumbled right into the middle of _Bringing Up Baby_."

"And Josh," CJ added, "is no Cary Grant."

"Hey!"

Sam studied Josh for a moment. "Maybe in _His Girl Friday_ , but you're right -- definitely not _Bringing Up BabyHippie Chick_ ads--"

"Which are actually a good sign, Josh," Donna pointed out. "The Republicans are funding Mary Marsh and her cohorts. If they're already attacking us, that means they're taking us seriously."

"I know," Josh nodded. "But the mug shot and that stupid song--"

"I still can't believe Soho sold the rights to the Republicans," Sam interjected. "I used to like that song." He glanced over at Toby. "I'll stop talking about Soho."

"Thank you," Toby answered with a generous heaping of sarcasm. "Josh--"

"Not pull to the middle," Josh said. "We campaign on honesty."

"You say that like we haven't so far," Donna pointed out.

"You know what I mean."

"Actually, Josh," CJ said. "I'm not sure we do."

Frustrated, Josh stood and paced. "We put the Governor out there and say, 'Sick of all the lying and prevaricating in Washington? Douglas-Radford's your guy.'"

"Woman," Donna and CJ corrected in unison.

Toby rolled his eyes.

"Excellent," Sam said. "We run some ads--"

"Compare and contrast," Donna nodded.

"Douglas-Radford versus Baker."

Toni frowned. "Why not Haskell?"

"We can't attack Haskell," Josh said.

Toby leaned back a little in his chair. He was honestly curious to hear Josh's thoughts on the matter. Toby had his own impression of Senator Mark Haskell, and he wondered if Josh's was similar.

"Why not?" Toni asked. "The Governor's up against Haskell for the nomination. Baker's beside the point right now."

"Doesn't matter," Josh answered.

Toni shook her head. "Wait--"

"We attack Haskell," Toby answered quietly, "we're the bad guy. Haskell's a decent man. Solid candidate. He's just..." Toby trailed off, glancing at Josh.

But it was Sam who spoke. "Milquetoast?" he suggested.

"I wouldn't go that far," Josh said. "He's not as strong on some issues as I'd like him to be, but on the whole..." He shrugged.

Hmmm, Toby thought. Interesting.

"Decent," CJ concurred.

Josh glanced around. "So we've got a consensus on the honesty thing. Make that a talking point as soon as possible. Press releases, interviews, debates -- we've got to get this out there."

Donna nodded. "I've got a few reporters with calls in. We can start it today."

"Still won't get us past third in this damn primary," Toby observed.

Sam glanced over at him. "You're awfully cheerful today, Toby."

Toby just shrugged. "It's a good strategy. But there's not enough time for it to do us any good in South Carolina."

"Third in South Carolina is what we expected anyway," Donna said, her expression determined. "But this'll help us in Delaware."

* * *

Evan hung up the phone with a heartfelt sigh of relief. Lord, but his mama could rant. Not that he wasn't incensed -- Forty goddamn years after the civil rights movement, and a mainstream paper writes an article employing all the same motifs and themes of segregationist rags from the 1950s.

He tossed the thing aside and frowned, looking for his elusive room key. Living out of a hotel was not his idea of a good time. He much preferred having an actual key made of metal and everything. These plastic cards disappeared as often as his driver's license. Plus, he missed Cady, Gloria and Snowball. (Also, the incessant razzing from CJ because Mr. Big Shot Writer couldn't come up with anything more creative than "Snowball" when naming a white Angora.)

Speaking of his wife, she was supposed to be back already. He searched the flat surfaces until he found his room key poking jauntily (and inexplicably) out of his shaving kit. Evan grabbed it, gave a mental shrug, and headed out.

Toby's suite, much to its occupant's dismay, had turned into the gathering place for the senior campaign staffers. Unfortunately for Evan, it was two floors up, which meant he had to wait for the ancient elevator to grace him with its presence. (The stairs, he found out after a fateful trip to get ice, were emergency exit only, which meant you could enter the stairwell on any floor, but you could only get back out in the lobby.)

The doors eased open, and Donna stepped out. Her hair was slightly out of place, her clothes were rumpled, and she just generally looked harried. "Evan!"

"Hey, Donna."

"You're looking for CJ."

Evan grinned at her. "Good to see that prognostication class of yours turned out to be so useful."

"Bite me," she returned cheerfully. "And good luck retrieving your wife; she and Toby are on round forty-seven or so."

"Ah." Evan nodded, holding the elevator by standing in the doorway. "Well, I'm gonna go get her anyway. I was promised nourishment before the thing."

Donna brightened. "Bring me back a salad?"

The elevator shrieked impatiently -- it didn't like to wait on passengers; it preferred passengers to wait on it.

Evan stepped inside. "I said nourishment, Donna. I'll bring you a steak," he replied as the doors slid shut.

When they opened two floors up, the familiar sound of a CJ-Toby throwdown greeted him.

"CJ, Haskell has ten times what we--"

"I know."

"Every major Democratic donor has given to Haskell--"

"I can't force people to donate money to the Governor," CJ pointed out, eminently reasonable.

"We're funded by what Haskell's people will correctly label the left wing of the Democratic Party, which--"

"Toby, these are all things I know already."

"How can we compete without money?"

"We did it eight years ago."

"That was eight years ago, CJ; I had eight times the patience."

Evan stopped and leaned against the wall; they were getting louder, and he decided to let them come to him.

"Toby--"

"A couple thousand."

"Toby, do you really think it's appropriate to discuss the campaign budget in the hallway of a Holiday Inn!"

"This is the Marriott."

"Toby--"

"I wanted to discuss this in my suite; you're the one who--"

"My husband is expecting me to feed him."

"You can't cook."

Evan laughed out loud as CJ rounded the corner, Toby hot on her heels. "You're right," he told Toby. "She's only allowed to bake."

"I bake a mean cookie," CJ agreed. She looked more irritated than frazzled, her usual polished demeanor uncompromised, even in her khakis and thin purple sweater. "Also, I wash a lot of dishes."

"She's not very good at that either." Evan gave her a quick kiss.

Toby, who looked like he was about ten seconds away from tearing out the remainder of his hair, cleared his throat. "Well, CJ's lack of culinary ability aside--"

"Yeah, like you can cook," she muttered.

"That aside," Toby repeated, his voice growing louder, "I need more money."

CJ shrugged. "We all do."

"I'm serious, CJ," Toby argued. "I've got some offers from local non-profits to coordinate Get out the Vote efforts, but I can't pay for it with my charm and good looks!"

Evan smirked but let the obvious quips pass. CJ squeezed his hand for a moment, then stepped over to Toby. "Toby, this campaign is getting by on luck and prayer. We can't afford to buy ad time right now."

"So?" Toby shrugged.

Evan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and watched them face off.

"Toby, don't be obtuse," CJ snapped. "Elections are won or lost on name recognition--"

"You don't think we've got name recognition after the drug thing?"

CJ crossed her arms. "We need her name to stick in their minds for something other than illegal drug use, Toby."

"We also need first time voters at the polls," he countered loudly. "First time voters who are so sick of the lying and prevaricating they could spit, but who were impressed by the Governor's candor. Those are our votes, CJ, and I'd expect you to know that!"

CJ exhaled slowly. "Toby, you're trying to piss me off so I'll yell at you, then feel bad about it and give you the money you want."

"It won't work," Evan opined. "She's very stubborn."

Toby ignored him. "Give me the money? Since when are you the campaign finance director?"

"I'm not. I'm the media director, and since your effort falls under the auspices of a media outreach--"

Toby looked offended. "It's not just media, CJ, it's--"

"Whatever, Toby. It still falls under the auspices--"

"You just like to say that word, don't you?"

"I really do. Now can I finish?"

"No, because I know what you're going to say."

CJ shot Evan a disbelieving look, then raised her eyebrow in Toby's direction. "You do?"

"I do." Toby crossed his arms. "You're working your way up to declaring that by some freakish twist of fate you ended up being my boss."

CJ started to grin. "Ain't fate grand?"

Toby rolled his eyes.

Evan bit back a smile. "Now that that's settled, might I borrow my wife for--"

"Borrow me?" CJ turned on him. "Do I look like an egg?"

The grin escaped; she was really just too much fun sometimes. "Is that an existential question of some kind?"

"Evan--"

"CJ, I'm hungry."

Toby turned around. "I'm done."

CJ smiled at his back. "See you at the thing!"

His response was inaudible, but from the tone, Evan suspected there was cursing involved.

* * *

CJ interrupted a yawn to take a sip of coffee, muttering to herself about the inhumanity of being rousted from bed at 5:37 a.m. Evan, damn the man, was quite cheerful; he hated mornings too, but it never ceased to amuse him to watch her stumbling around pre-coffee. She got her revenge, though, when Sam called with an urgent problem and she left Evan to pack for the both of them.

"Well, this entire South Carolina escapade has been pretty pointless," Josh opined, strolling up to join the rest of the gang as they stood in a small, semi-conscious group next to the bus.

Donna flashed CJ a small smile and said, "One second." Then she turned and gave Josh a look that sent Sam into a fit of laughter. "Excuse me?"

Josh glanced over at her, registered the glare, and waved a hand around in the air as if he could erase his comment. "No, no, no. Politically speaking, I'm saying."

The corner of Donna's mouth quirked up. "Thank you."

"In other aspects," Josh continued, "this trip been very, very pointed. In fact--"

CJ couldn't decide whether to groan or snicker. Instead, she tossed a packet of sugar at his head. "Shut up, Josh."

Catching the sugar in midair, Josh froze like a dog on point. "There's coffee?"

"Yes, Josh," Donna answered in her best "you see what I have to put up with?" voice.

CJ smirked at her. "Hey, you're the one who said--"

"CJ!" Donna yelped, eyes wide.

"Wait," Josh blinked. "What'd you say?"

"Nothing."

"Donna--"

"I got it," Sam told Donna with an amused look. He pointed Josh in the direction of the coffee, effectively changing the subject.

Evan appeared at CJ's elbow and grinned at them both. "Claudia Jean, are you causing trouble?"

"No," CJ answered.

Donna raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"I prefer the term 'merry-making' myself," CJ countered. Then she caught sight of Josh from behind and her eyes got very, very wide. "Josh?"

"Yeah?" he mumbled around a mouthful of bagel.

"What the hell is that on your back?" A large, multi-pocketed, liberally-zippered bag hung from his shoulders, so weighty that his entire frame leaned forward to keep him from landing on his ass.

Josh whipped around, Donna snickered, and CJ smirked.

"It's a backpack," Josh said, his tone defensive. Then he glared at Donna, who just snickered some more.

"Turn around," CJ ordered.

"No."

"Josh--"

"No, I'm not turning around on orders. You're not my teacher or my mother--"

"Hey, that's a lapsac!" Sam called out. He started toward Josh.

Josh groaned. "Sam."

"Well, it is," he shrugged.

Toby rubbed his beard. "What the hell is a lapsac?"

"It's just a backpack, okay?" Josh insisted.

Nodding slowly, Toby used his "I am, as always, the only sane person here" voice when he said, "Then why is it called a lapsac?"

"It's not."

Sam leaned sideways, catching CJ's gaze from behind Josh. "Actually, it says right here on this pocket--"

"Donna!" Josh whined.

She rolled her eyes at him. "It's a good backpack, Josh. Suck it up."

CJ turned to Donna. "Ah, so this was a gift?"

"Yes."

"Is it an ergonomically correct backpack?"

Donna brightened. "Yes! The straps actually inflate to lift the weight off of your shoulders. It's much better for your back. I got it at Levengers."

"Oooh," CJ nodded. "I love Levengers. Do you have the Bill Slayer?"

Donna nodded happily. "So useful! I haven't had a late payment charge in years."

"Okay," Josh commented, "I'm not entirely sure what's happening here, but it really has to stop."

"Levengers," Sam answered wisely. "Great store. Organizational stuff -- backpacks, folios, really expensive pens."

"Can we go?" Toby demanded.

"Yeah, yeah," CJ answered, distracted. "We'll be right there."

Toby made a tortured noise and disappeared onto the bus.

"Donna," Sam called, waiting on her. "Have you seen that Waterman pen?"

"The gold one?"

"Yes," Sam answered. "But I prefer platinum."

Donna grinned at him as she stepped into the bus. "I'll keep that in mind."

Josh watched them go, a soft smile on his face.

CJ caught Evan's eye and motioned toward the bus. Evan leaned in and kissed her, whispering, "You're going to threaten his kneecaps, aren't you?"

Laughing, CJ pushed him away. "Go." He waggled his eyebrows at her, but disappeared nonetheless.

"Josh -- wait a second."

He turned, the large bag nearly throwing him off balance. "Yes?" he asked warily. "Is this about Donna, because--"

"You have every intention of making the rest of her life wonderful to make up for the spectacular asshole you were in Seattle?" CJ suggested.

Josh blinked. "Well, okay. That too. I was going to say I won't hurt her again."

CJ nodded a few times. "Good then. Your kneecaps, as you my recall from many long years ago, are mine if you hurt her again. 'Kay?"

Josh pulled away from her. "You know, you're kinda scary when you're like this, CJ."

She gave him an evil grin. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. Just keep that in mind."

* * *

Josh stared out the window at the drab countryside blurring past. Normally, he'd spend his free time on the bus pestering Donna, or arguing with CJ, or doing something campaign-related. But Donna was working the phones to get what Sam'd dubbed the Honesty Message out there, CJ was spending quality time with Evan, and Sam and Toby were debating the true meaning of the word "inchoate." Which left Josh with nothing to do but brood over the current state of the campaign.

To be precise, he was brooding over his status as the anti-Bruno.

"Hey," Sam said, slipping into the seat next to Josh. "Toby refuses to admit that inchoate can mean--"

"Sam, do you realize that I'm the anti-Bruno?" Josh interrupted.

Sam blinked. "Okay, maybe I'm gonna go back to arguing--"

"I am."

Sighing, Sam asked, "You're the anti-Bruno?"

"Yes."

"Bruno Gianelli, I assume you mean."

Bruno Gianelli, who had strutted into the Bartlet White House oozing smarm and smug self-confidence and wrested control of the re-election campaign away from Josh while everyone from the President to the assistant to the assistant of public affairs was mired down in legal proceedings.

"Yes," Josh answered, some traces of bitterness evident in his tone. "From CREEP."

"Okay, I'd really prefer if we'd call it something else," Sam commented. "It's such an unwieldy acronym."

"Whatever." Josh went back to staring out the window.

"How are you the anti-Bruno?"

Josh sighed. "Is there a reason you--"

"Josh, how are you the anti-Bruno?" Sam pressed.

With a shrug, Josh said, "Because he was brought in to help the campaign; I was brought in and all I've done is hurt the campaign."

When Sam didn't answer, Josh glanced over to find that Sam was actually gaping. Mouth open, wide-eyed gaping.

"What?" Josh demanded.

"Hurt?" Sam sputtered. "You think you've hurt the campaign?"

"Yes."

" _This_ campaign?"

Josh rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sam. Douglas-Radford for President. This campaign should have been run by someone without a history for the newspapers to dredge up and smear the Governor with."

Sam gave him a disbelieving look. "Do you really think there's a political operative out there with enough experience and know-how to run a national campaign who doesn't have a past the newspapers can dredge up?"

"Sam--"

"This is a dirty business, Josh. It shouldn't be, but it is. And if the stories about the Governor's drug experimentation and the staff's past cost her the presidency, well," Sam shrugged, "maybe the country deserves someone like Baker."

Josh stared at him, horrified. "You don't mean that."

The corner of Sam's mouth quirked upwards. "Nah, not really. But it sounds good, huh?"

"No, it sounds like Toby."

Sam's smile faded slowly. "Seriously, Josh, I don't think we're out of it yet."

Josh nodded. "Not yet."

"Even if we come in third in Delaware--"

"Sam."

"We'll still be in it."

"As a curiosity," Josh shrugged. "We'll be in it to bring Haskell to the left if we get third in Delaware."

Sam considered that for a moment. "Okay, so we won't come in third."

Josh raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"

"Yup. Just like that."

Josh grinned. "'Kay."

"And you're not the anti-Bruno."

"Sam--

"Do you really think any other political operative in the country would've advised the Governor to come clean about drug experimentation? And do you think if she'd played the semantics game, or refused to answer, or even flat out denied it that they Republicans wouldn't go right out and dig up seven or eight of her hippie friends to testify under oath that they shared a bong with her?"

"Of course they would have. But--

"And then there's Toby's voter initiative. Josh," Sam insisted, his tone impassioned, "it's working. We're doing more here than running for president again; we're changing the face of the democratic process in this country!

Josh stared at Sam, whose eyes betraying nothing but sincere optimism, and started to laugh. He'd really missed Sam's buoyancy.

Judging from the look on his face, Sam hadn't much missed Josh's talent for laughing at exactly the wrong time. "It's true," Sam said defensively.

Josh shook his head. "Yeah, I know. I just get..." He glanced away, staring back out into the wilds of North Carolina.

"Glum?" Sam suggested.

Josh glanced at him. "Well, I probably wouldn't have chosen that precise word."

Sam nodded sagely. "You know what you should do when you're feeling glum?"

"Seriously, I'm not comfortable describing my mood as--"

"Josh, are you going to shut up?"

"Probably not."

"Fine," Sam sniffed, "then I won't share my advice."

Josh smirked. "Damn."

Sam didn't answer for a moment, instead plucking imaginary lint from the arm of his shirt. "So, Josh, about Donna-"

"Sam," Josh groaned.

"No, I really just want to say--"

"Please," Josh interrupted. "Don't."

Sam met Josh's gaze. "I wanted to say that I'm happy for you. Really."

Josh nodded slowly. "'Kay."

"She really loves you, Josh," Sam commented. "And if you hurt her again, I'll be forced to kick your ass."

While Josh stared, slackjawed, Sam stood up and moved into the aisle.

"Oh, and, Josh? When I'm feeling glum, I find it really helps to read this," Sam declared, tossing a hardcover in Josh's direction.

Josh caught the book. "What the hell--"

"Evan's book," Sam said, practically bouncing on his toes in his glee. "It's priceless. And you have got to check out page 73."

* * *

"Hey, CJ! You really whacked Evan over the head with an antique crystal carafe?"

CJ groaned and leaned into the narrow aisle to glare at Josh, who, predictably, grinned back. "No," she answered tartly.

"It was a decanter," Evan offered, not even looking up from his laptop.

CJ whirled back around to him. "Don't encourage him," she admonished. Evan glanced over at her with a devilish look, and she added, "And it was a carafe."

"I have a question," Josh said.

CJ opened her mouth to tell him where he could stick his question, but Evan patted her knee and said, "Ask away."

"How did assault with a deadly weapon lead to marriage?" Josh moved to kneel backwards in his seat, propped his elbows on the headrest, dropped his chin into his hand, and gave them his full attention. Also an impertinent smirk. "And how come that never works for me?"

"You really only ever tried it the one time," Sam answered from a few rows back. "And you were too drunk to aim; the ice cube came nowhere near that girl," he pointed out, smiling at the recollection. Then he tilted his head until he could see CJ. "And it's a decanter, CJ."

"Carafe," she shot back. "Josh, why are you asking about -- Oh, god."

Evan straightened in his seat, trying to see over the high seatback. "Wait -- You're not reading the book now, are you?"

"Yeah," Josh said, waving the familiar book around in a taunting manner until a slim alabaster hand appeared from the seat beside him and snatched it away.

"Taken care of, Evan," Donna said cheerfully.

"Hey," Josh protested, frowning momentarily at Donna. Then he shrugged. "So the part where Devik and Simone go away for the weekend--"

"Josh!" CJ yelped.

"What about that thing on the patio--"

"It's fiction," CJ all but yelled. "And shut up!"

"Fiction, yes." Evan nodded vigorously. "And you can't read that around me. Seriously."

Josh's forehead crinkled up. "Why not?"

Donna gave up the pretense of working and sat up on her knees, her back against the windows, to join the conversation. "It's a writing thing," she told Josh. "And _Altimetrical_ isn't really about them."

"Thank you," CJ said, hoping Josh would let the matter drop. Then she groaned, because, really, when had Josh ever let a subject that could be embarrassing for his close friends and family drop?

Josh's gaze swung between Donna and Evan. "A writing thing?" CJ let out the breath she'd been holding a moment too soon, because Josh promptly added, "And Simone is clearly CJ."

"Yes," Evan answered.

CJ whacked him lightly on the arm. "I am not!"

He gave her a puzzled look. "What?"

"I am not Simone, Evan."

"I didn't say you were," he answered, bewildered.

"You said yes."

"Okay."

"To Josh," CJ clarified. "When he said Simone was me."

"Actually, I was talking about the writing thing."

Josh watched them, amused. "From assault and battery to banter in six easy steps. Hey, Donna, what say--"

"Don't even think about it, Josh; I could Tae Kwan Do you in half."

CJ stifled a laugh at the horrified look on Josh's face.

"Okay," he said, "Donna? I don't think Tae Kwan Do's really a verb."

She gave a careless shrug. "Whatever."

"So why can't I read your book?"

Evan waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Oh, you can read it. You just can't read it around me."

Josh shook his head a little. "Because, what, you might get the sudden urge to attack my copy with a red pen?"

"It's not that." Sam appeared at Josh's elbow, slipped past, and settled in across the aisle from CJ. "It's just watching people read your stuff is nerve-wracking. I can't do it."

CJ gave Sam what Evan called her "you are too stupid to survive in the wild" look. "Sam, you wrote a very large percentage of the President's speeches; you can't watch people reading your stuff?"

"No, I watched him give my speeches," Sam corrected. "Perform them, if you will." CJ rolled her eyes but didn't comment. "I never watched him read the speech through the first time."

"Why not?" Josh wondered.

Evan and Sam exchanged knowing looks. "What if he frowned?" Sam said. "Or didn't laugh in the right places?" Sam shrugged, his pretty mouth tightening into a grimace.

"Or laughed in entirely the wrong places," Evan added with a shudder.

Josh shook his head slowly. "You people," he decided, "have problems."

CJ met Donna's amused look. "Do I need to point out the whole pot-kettle thing?"

"Nah," Donna answered. "That's pretty self-evident."

* * *

CJ caught up with Sam as he headed out the door for a morning run. "Take a walk with me, Sparky."

He flashed her that dazzling grin. "I'll race you."

"Please, Sam," CJ scoffed. "Do you see my shoes?"

Sam glanced down at her low heels, then shrugged. "I'll give you a head start."

"Walk with me," CJ repeated.

"Yeah, sure," he agreed, still stretching that annoyingly ageless body of his.

CJ gave him a critical once over. He looked good, she decided. Better and less tense than he'd been in years, and his face had finally lost that stony look he'd worn for so long.

She leaned over and gave him an impromptu kiss on the cheek.

Sam looked started. "What was that for?"

CJ shrugged one shoulder. "You look good."

"Well, I work out."

"Idiot," CJ rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"Okay."

Looping an arm through his, CJ tugged him down the street. "Delaware's kind of pretty, huh?"

"I guess."

They walked along in silence for a long moment, CJ shivering a bit in the cool air.

"You know, I'm feeling much better about all this," CJ confided.

"All what?"

"This. The campaign. The people working on the campaign." She gave him a pointed look.

"You mean Josh," Sam surmised.

"Partly. I mean that this has been good."

"It has."

CJ studied him. "So you're okay with this?"

Sam looked perplexed. "With what?"

"Josh and Donna."

"Of course," Sam shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be?"

CJ stopped walking, forcing Sam to a halt beside her. "Why wouldn't you be? Sam--"

"Oh, please don't tell me you think I have a thing for Donna too."

CJ blinked. "A thing for Donna? Who thinks you have a thing for Donna?"

Sam started to grin. "Josh did."

"Josh?"

"Yes."

"Thought you had a thing for Donna?"

"Yes."

"What an idiot."

"Yes."

"How could he not know you had a thing for him?"

"Exactly!" Sam grinned. "Wait -- what?" Sam's eyes grew very wide.

"Sam, it's okay."

"I know it's okay," he answered defensively. "I just didn't know you knew it was okay. Or that it was, you know, at all." He frowned. "I didn't even know."

CJ tried, but honestly, he made no sense sometimes. She pulled him into a brief hug even as she started to laugh. "Really, Sam," she reassured him. "It was just a hunch I had."

Sam watched her, fussing a little with his clothing. "A hunch? What kind of hunch?"

CJ swallowed her amusement. "It's nothing, Sam. I'm just very good at reading people."

* * *

Sam glanced up from his laptop, still frowning. He couldn't quite make the words do his bidding, and it was beginning to get frustrating. He briefly considered hurling the computer at the wall. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that since he was his own boss, destruction of work property would actually end up costing him money.

They'd arrived in Delaware -- a singularly uninspiring place -- the night before, and Sam had been unable to write a word since they crossed the state line. He was searching for something of Toby's -- perhaps one of those ridiculous rubber balls -- to throw at the wall when CJ swept into the room.

"I really don't understand why I've been appointed mail-delivery-person--"

"Mail-delivery-person?" Toby made a face.

"Shut up," CJ told him. "Mail carrier. Why am I the mail carrier when I'm the only one who routinely doesn't receive any?" she demanded, tossing a few envelopes at Josh, handing a stack of messages to Donna, favoring Toby with a superior look, and delivering a small cardboard mailer to Sam.

He redirected his frown toward the mailer.

"I don't get mail either," Toby pointed out.

"You get stuff from NYU."

Toby smirked. "Veiled threats don't count, do they?"

Donna glanced over at him, looking mildly shocked. "They want you back?"

Toby gave her an offended look while CJ laughed outright. "Apparently," she answered. "Which still doesn't answer my question."

"We wanted you to feel included," Josh told her around a mouthful of chips. "You know, since the only person who would send you maudlin cards is actually following you around the country, we figured you'd get a vicarious thrill out of handling the copious amounts of mail the rest of us get."

"How thoughtful," CJ answered in full sarcasm mode. "Do I need to point out that the only person who sends you anything personal is your mother?"

"I didn't see you complaining about that when she sent the brownies last month."

Sam tuned out their bickering and turned the package in his hands over. It was addressed to Sam Seaborn, Esquire; Professional Agitator. Sam's frown transformed rapidly to a grin as he recognized the handwriting.

The mailer contained an unlabeled CD and a short note from Jesse: "Sam, I heard this and thought of you. When your stress level gets too high, turn on, tune in, and drop out."

Sam chuckled and tucked the note into his briefcase. He popped the CD into the laptop and pressed play. A moment later, the familiar mellow strains of the Steve Miller Band rang out and Sam started to laugh.

The incessant bickering among the others stopped as they turned amused looks in Sam's direction. He tried to explain Jesse's twisted sense of humor, his love for the absurd, and his freakish ability to do the exact thing to crack Sam up, but he was laughing too hard.

Instead, Sam cranked the volume on his laptop, and Steve crooned, "I'm a joker, I'm smoker, I'm a midnight toker..."

By the time he got to "I really love your peaches, wanna shake your tree," CJ, Donna and Sam were singing along loudly, while Josh laughed too hard to join in. Toby watched them, alternately snickering, wincing at their high notes, and taking fortifying swigs of his scotch.

When the song trailed off, Josh ran a hand over his face and asked, "Who sent that to you?"

"Jesse," Sam answered, sobering a bit.

Toby watched him quietly, CJ and Donna gave him supportive smiles, and Josh seemed to turn that tidbit of information over in his mind. Finally, Josh smiled and nodded. "He seems pretty cool."

That tacit approval from Josh really shouldn't have made Sam quite so happy. But it did.

* * *

It seemed to Josh that the hotel suite playing the part of makeshift war room rotated absurdly from city to city. In New Hampshire, it'd been CJ and Evan's room; in South Carolina, Toby's . He shouldn't have been surprised, then, when his suite in Delaware became the de facto campaign headquarters.

Of course, "surprised" wasn't really the right word; "irritated" was closer to the truth, considering he was trying to revive a floundering campaign and move his new relationship with Donna forward at the same time. Both tasks required large amounts of effort, and Josh was beginning to feel the strain.

Which was why he'd left Donna, Sam and Toby arguing about something or other and locked himself in the bathroom. The harsh fluorescent light was actually helpful, considering that the polling data was printed in what Josh would swear was four point font, but sitting cross-legged on the countertop with his back against the wall... Well, it wasn't doing much for his lingering stiffness.

"Josh?" Toby called, his voice just loud enough to carry through the door.

"Go away. I'm in the bathroom."

"I noticed," Toby retorted. "Open the door."

"Toby--"

"Josh. Open the door."

Josh had learned in the years he'd worked with Toby that it was best not to argue with him when he used that tone. So he leaned precariously sideways, his mind providing lurid images of his body toppling into the ceramic floor, and flicked the lock. "It's open."

Toby pushed the door open slowly, his expression unreadable. "What the hell are you doing?"

Josh shifted on the counter, grimacing when his abused muscles protested. "Polling data. You know, if the Governor were a TV show, she'd have what's called quality demographics."

Toby stared at him. "She'd also be yanked after two airings for poor performance."

Josh looked away. "That's not necessarily--"

"Josh, we need Delaware." Toby slid his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the door.

"I know."

"No, I mean, we need Delaware."

"I know."

"Do you?" Toby pressed. "Our funding is drying up, Josh, and we can't afford to become the NORML candidate."

Josh's temper flared. "Toby, I'm working on it, okay?"

Toby nodded. "Fine, but if we come in third tomorrow--"

"Toby."

"If we come in third tomorrow, we need to consider--"

"I don't believe this," Josh exploded. Josh worried enough about this himself; he didn't need to hear the worst case scenario from Toby. "Delaware's only the sixth primary."

"Josh, if she's third tomorrow, we've got a very disturbing pattern, and the one time she won second will be written off as the influence of Josiah Bartlet in his home state. And then all the donors who were considering giving to the Governor decide--"

"I know, Toby," Josh interrupted sharply. "I know how it works. I know exactly what's at stake. Which is why I'm trying to work!"

Toby held his gaze for a long, tense moment. "Fine. We'll talk tomorrow."

Josh turned his attention back to the numbers, but he couldn't seem to focus. The numbers wavered strangely.

"Josh? One more thing," Toby said, leaning his upper body back into the bathroom. "Donna--"

"Oh, for the love of God -- No, I'm not going to hurt her again!"

Toby blinked. "Okay. I was going to tell you that she made a very good point about the Governor's stance on legalizing marijuana."

Josh flushed a little. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"What was her point?"

"If Douglas-Radford were a Republican, she could've come out as pro-legalization. But pro-legalization Democrats get no respect for their positions, which has nothing to do with getting high and everything to do with having fair and constitutional laws for her constituents."

Josh digested that for a moment. "That's good."

"Yeah."

"Can she have the Governor sit down with a sympathetic reporter, just on background, and get that out there?"

Toby nodded slowly. "That's what I was going to tell you. We set it up." Toby pulled the door shut behind him.

"Good, then." Josh told the wall. He really, really hoped that would be enough to tip the scales in their favor. Because Josh didn't even want to think about what would happen if they came in third in Delaware.

* * *

"It's unpredictable."

"Yes, sir."

"Jed."

"Whatever, sir."

"Delaware, I mean. It's unpredictable."

"So you mentioned."

"Delaware--"

"Is unpredictable, yes, sir, I caught that the first seven or eight times," Leo interrupted.

Jed raised his eyebrows and glanced over at his old friend. "Someone's snippy today."

"I am not snippy," Leo argued, pointedly ignoring the smirk on Jed's face.

When Abbey'd informed him she would be in France for a symposium on women's rights, Jed had immediately called Leo to insist he come to the farm for the Delaware primary. Though, being a primary, it didn't get the breathless coverage of a general election. In fact, the coverage on C-SPAN was downright anemic. Mostly they commented on the slight rise in voter turnout. It seemed the media were beginning to lose interest in what they judged to be a one-candidate race for the Democratic nomination.

Leo frowned at the TV. "When are they gonna call this damn thing?"

"Well," Jed grinned, "probably not until the polls close."

Leo cut him a glare. "Don't you have a cow to milk?"

"I'll be honest with you, Leo, I'm not sure how one milks a cow."

"So this whole spread is pretty much lost on you, huh?" Leo indicated the rolling lands outside the window.

"Well, Abbey likes it."

"Yeah, 'cause it gives her ample room to get away from you when you're in one of your insufferable moods."

"Insufferable?" Jed sputtered. "I beg your--"

"Wait," Leo ordered, leaning forward. C-SPAN did a short standup outside a polling precinct in Delaware but offered little in the way of information.

Jed watched, his good mood leeching away as the reporter smugly predicted a landslide victory for Senator Mark Haskell, with the rest of the pack virtually tied for second. Which, according to this guy, didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things, since Mark Haskell was so clearly the anointed one.

"This is my fault," Jed muttered.

Leo gave him a very strange look. "Excuse me, sir?"

He frowned and gestured at the TV. "Well, Delaware's unpredictable. Did you know--"

"Sir," Leo interrupted in a long-suffering tone.

"Right." Jed nodded. "Delaware's unpredictability aside, this whole... snafu is my fault."

Leo stared at him in disbelief. "How do you figure that?"

Jed shrugged, clearing regretting having started the conversation.

"No, sir, really," Leo pressed. "Unless you voted 500,000 times--"

"Delaware, in fact, has a population of 783,600."

Leo rolled his eyes. "Sir."

"Well, that data's from the 2000 census, so really--"

"Sir!"

"Sorry."

"Unless you voted 783,600 times in Delaware before I got here at three, I don't see how--"

"Because of my thing," Jed interrupted, avoiding Leo's incredulous look.

"The voters of Delaware are unpredictable because you have MS?"

"No, the voters of Delaware are suspicious of Josh, Toby, CJ and Sam because of the hearings," he shot back. "Healthgate," he added with a twist of distaste.

Leo shook his head. "I'm not following you--"

"The papers." Jed reached down and grabbed a handful from the magazine rack. "This inexcusable slander masquerading as investigative journalism, Leo. The things they say about--" The papers hit the hardwood floor with a good deal of force. He took a steadying breath. "Josh, CJ -- They wouldn't be fighting an uphill battle if--"

"If the Governor hadn't admitted to drug use, they wouldn't be fighting an uphill battle," Leo countered.

Jed shrugged. "Still. The negative press about the staff..."

"Sir, the negative press about the staff has nothing do with you and everything to do with an irresponsible, sensationalist press."

"If I hadn't--"

"Jed," Leo interrupted quietly, "at some point you have to realize that you do not control the world. You still feel guilty because you should have told them--" Leo held up a hand to stay his old friend's protests-- "But that doesn't mean you bear the responsibility for Governor Douglas-Radford's performance in the polls. She's a left-wing female candidate; her chances were slim to begin with, which is exactly why Josh--"

"Yeah." Jed nodded slowly, his gaze focused somewhere in the middle distance. He could feel Leo watching him.

"You can't win this for them, sir," Leo said quietly. "And you certainly can't lose it for them."

"I know," Jed answered, still avoiding Leo's eyes.

"It's their battle," Leo said. "And, frankly, in anyone else's hands I'd say it was an impossible one."

Jed nodded slowly, turning to meet Leo's gaze. "You think they'll be able to pull it off?"

Leo grinned. "I wouldn't bet against them."

* * *

"Have a beer," Toby said, grabbing another for himself from the dwindling supply.

Sam shook his head, not even glancing up from his laptop. "I need to finish this."

"Why?"

Sam gave him a sharp look. "Why?"

"Yes," Toby nodded. "What's the point?"

Sam frowned. "Well, it would be nice for the Governor to have something to say in the event that she loses the Delaware primary."

Toby started to chuckle, strange, rough sounds that didn't seem to have much to do with genuine amusement. "In the event that she loses?" he repeated, incredulous. "In the event?"

"Toby--"

"She's lost every goddamn primary so far, Sam!" Toby bellowed.

"Toby, this is only the sixth primary!"

"And we've lost all six!"

"We finished strong second in New Hampshire," Sam argued. "We haven't lost this one yet, and the third-place finishes were statistical dead heats with Mooney."

"Doesn't matter. The press ranks the candidates, and all the public remembers is she's in third."

"Well, it's not like we expected her to beat Haskell right out of the gate."

"We expected her to improve. We expected the public to respond to her honesty. We expected to come in second more than once!"

Sam nodded. "But then we didn't so much expect the whole drug thing."

Toby snorted. "Which is what the campaign's about now. 'Yes,'" he said, mimicking the Vice-President, who'd emerged as the Republican Party's mudslinger, "'I believe in the death penalty for drug kingpins. Governor Douglas-Radford doesn't, perhaps out of nostalgia.'"

Sam blinked. "Well, first of all, Shallick's a mean little man who--"

"Sam!"

"I know." Sam stared down at his laptop, his fingers resting silently on the keys.

Toby slammed the beer bottle onto the table, sloshing some out the top. "I'm so sick of this."

"Sick of what?" Sam demanded. "Your Get out the Vote campaign is working. The percentage of eligible voters going to the polls is up--"

"Four percent."

"Do you know how many thousands -- how many millions -- of people that four percent represents, Toby? That's an amazing number."

Before Toby could come up with a properly cynical response, Josh blew into the room, incensed about an ad he'd seen.

Sam raised a hand. "Toby doesn't care, and if I don't write this concession speech--"

"Just use the old one," Toby interrupted, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He rescued his abandoned beer and took a long swallow.

Josh gave him a strange look. "Use the old one?"

"Yup," Toby answered. "Who cares? We're saying the same damn thing over and over, and the thing we're saying isn't even the truth!"

Josh looked over at Sam. "How many of those has he had?"

"Several."

"You want a new speech?" Toby demanded. "Write this down: In every community there are varying shades of political opinion. One of the shadiest of these is the liberal."

"Toby," Josh interrupted, laughing almost against his will.

"Ten degrees to the left of center in good times," Toby continued. "Ten degrees to the right of center if it affects them personally." Toby swirled his beer around a little, his mouth pursed. "They're almost as bad as the Republicans."

"We don't have to worry so much about the Republicans right now; we need to beat our fellow Democrats. Speaking of which--"

"New Democrats," Toby spat. "Republicans in disguise."

"Toby, that doesn't--"

"Haskell, Josh," he said, his tone leeched of anger. "It's going to be Haskell."

Sam stared at Toby for a long moment. "Toby, you're drunk. It's not going to be Haskell. It could still be Mooney."

Toby gave him a scathing look. "Even I think Mooney's too far left, Sam. He's a junior Seth Gillette."

"Yeah," Josh shrugged. "But he only really beat us in Washington. We knew he was going to beat us in Washington."

Toby glared at him. "We didn't know he'd beat us in South Carolina, Utah and Colorado!"

"Fair point," Josh conceded. "But they were statistical dead heats."

"Which matters very little when she's got the number three in front of her name on the evening news!" Toby retorted.

"Okay, as much as I'm enjoying this little skirmish," Josh said, "they're gonna call this thing in any time."

Sam frowned. "They are?"

Josh rolled his eyes. "Why don't you have the TV on?"

Sam shot Toby a pointed look. Toby shrugged. "They let that windbag Mary Marsh speak. It was self-preservation."

"He threatened to go down there and throttle Mary Marsh," Sam added.

Josh grinned. "Okay, but only if you make it clear you're not acting on behalf of the Governor."

Toby narrowed his eyes. "Why are you so revoltingly chipper?"

"They're going to call it," Josh repeated, sounding as if he were speaking to a small child.

"So?"

"Guys!" Donna yelled, arriving suddenly in the room, CJ just behind her. "We got second!"

Josh groaned. "I was going to tell them!"

Sam blinked. "What?"

"We got second." CJ grinned.

"Hey!" Josh protested. "You couldn't have given me confirmation rights?"

CJ shrugged, unconcerned. "You snooze, you lose."

"Second?" Toby echoed. "We came in second?"

"I didn't snooze," Josh frowned. "In fact, I was in here five minutes ago, but Gloomy Gus over here--"

"Gloomy Gus?" Sam snickered. "You've been hanging out with Donna too much there, Deputy Downer."

Josh shrugged. "Apparently so."

"In Delaware?" Toby asked, still stuck on that. "Second? Really?"

"Yes!" Josh, Donna, and CJ yelled in unison.

Sam shoved his laptop aside and stood. "Yes!"

The four shared a giddy group hug, then turned to look at Toby, who was finally starting to smile. "Okay, then," he groused. "Sam? Don't you have a speech to write?"

THE END

11.01.01

**Author's Note:**

> Authors' Note: The "one of the shadiest of these is the liberal" rant was stolen shamelessly from Phil Ochs, who introduced Love Me, I'm a Liberal with that little gem. It was so Tobyesque that we just had to lift it.


End file.
